This article critiques the model for implementation of good faith suggested by Leggatt J’s obiter comments in Yam Seng Pte Ltd v International Trade Corp Ltd. He considered that a general term of good faith may be implied as a matter of construction or as a factual implication under traditional implied terms rules; and that further terms might be implied as specific manifestations of the general term. These further terms would reflect “shared values and norms of behaviour”, including the “core value of honesty”. The article contends that the reasoning to support the general implication contradicts the proposition — accepted by Leggatt J — that good faith has not been recognised “as a duty implied by law”; and that, for several reasons, the analysis used to support implication on the basis of shared norms is flawed.

THE main facts of Blackstone's life are well known, and so are the qualities of his Commentaries. I do not intend to add to the number of Blackstone's biographers, nor to give an exhaustive account of his Commentaries. But I must begin by stating shortly some of the salient facts and dates in Black-stone's life in order that my remarks upon some aspects of his Commentaries may be the better understood. Then I shall say something, first, of Blackstone's intellectual characteristics; secondly, of the manner in which these intellectual characteristics have worked together to make the Commentaries a classical book; and, thirdly, of certain alleged defects in the Commentaries.

Two “landmark” decisions on the recovery of damages for negligently caused nervous shock have now been delivered in two years by the highest courts in Britain and Australia—McLoughlin v. O'Brian by the House of Lords in 1983 and Jaensch v. Coffey by the High Court of Australia in 1984. Despite these decisions, it is difficult to say that the principles of law to be applied in such a case can be stated with absolute clarity and one tends rather to sympathise with the view of Comyn J. in Whitmore v. Euroways Express Coaches Ltd. that “no absolutely clear picture emerges and many of the judgments speak with different voices.” Nevertheless, certain principles in this area are clear and others are becoming clearer, and a statement of these principles now might be of assistance in allowing an absolutely clear picture to emerge.

Suppose a collection of ictures is held by a trustee T on trust for beneficiary B. A picture is stolen by X, a thief; or alternatively, it is wrongfully sold by T to Y. What causes of action are open to B? At first sight this looks an easy question, involving straightforward application of the principles of equity and personal property. In the former situation (the theft example), T, who has the legal title, can clearly sue X in conversion. As for B, he in his capacity of equitable owner can no doubt force T to do so, if necessary by himself bringing proceedings against X and joining T as a party. In the second case, that of wrongful sale, T is clearly guilty of a breach of trust and liable to compensate B accordingly. As to the liability of Y, B will be able in equity to recover the picture from him in specie he has it, or its value if he does not (assuming Y's acts were sufficient to make him liable on the basis of “knowing receipt” of trust property).

When Sir Anthony Blunt's misdeeds were exposed to public gaze by revelations that he was the so-called fourth man in the notorious group who had spied for Russia, an important area of the criminal justice process was partially uncovered as a result. The Prime Minister confirmed in a House of Commons Written Answer that Mr. Blunt (as he later became) had been granted immunity from prosecution as long ago as 1964 by the Attorney-General, Sir John Hobson. No attempt was made to suggest that this was a routine occurrence, but in the ensuing debate, the Prime Minister asserted that “it is not unusual for the Attorney-General to be asked to authorise immunity from prosecution in return for co-operation in pursuit of inquiries. It happens from time to time in the course of criminal investigations.”

What forms of economic coercion should the law permit in the conflict between labour and capital? This is a fundamental question to ask in any developed economy. It is also hotly disputed, particularly in Britain where, in the last ten years especially, successive governments have attempted to redefine the legality of strike action to reflect their own views of what society should tolerate. As every student of labour law knows, the liberty to strike in Britain has been created by Parliament giving unions and workers a series of immunities from judge-made liabilities, and the scope of that liberty can be altered by expanding or restricting the immunities accordingly. This perhaps suggests a simple control mechanism for adjusting at will the boundary between lawful and unlawful industrial action. But the description is deceptively simple and any such conception is grossly misleading.

THE appeal in R. (on the application of SG) (previously JS) v Secretary of State for Work and Pensions (Child Poverty Action Group and another intervening) [2015] UKSC 16 concerned a challenge to the cap on welfare benefits, one of the measures introduced as part of the Government's austerity-driven economic and social policy. The “benefit cap” operates to limit the amount of welfare benefits that can be received by non-working households, to the equivalent net median earnings of a working household. The Welfare Reform Act 2012 contains provisions allowing the Secretary of State to make regulations providing for a “benefit cap” scheme. It is implemented through the Benefit Cap (Housing Benefit) Regulations 2012 and operates by a reduction in housing benefit once a specified maximum amount is reached. Benefits covered by the cap include housing benefit, child benefit, and child tax credit. Once the cap is reached, no account is taken of the number of children in the family. The lawfulness of the Act itself was not challenged. The appellants’ argument was that the implementation of the scheme was discriminatory and contrary to the Human Rights Act 1998.

The law about remoteness of damage in contract and tort is in a strangely unsettled state. Pursuing justice in individual cases, the courts have felt driven into vacillations on points of general principle which have not shown our system of case law at its best. Yet there is perhaps no field of common law in which there have been so many attempts by judges, and at a high level of authority, to formulate principles or rules in exact terms. A glance over ground mainly very familiar may not be wasted if it happens to contribute anything towards attaining a more stable perspective.

Readers of A. P. Herbert's Misleading Cases will recall the fictitious decision in Haddock v. Thwaile, where the Court of Appeal extended strict liability under Rylands v. Fletcher to motor-cars on the highway, and—carried away on a tide of Luddite eloquence—revived and extended the law of deodand by ordering the unfortunate motorist's car to be destroyed. Nowadays it is almost forgotten that this story is nearly based on fact. Before the First World War, at the dawn of the motor age, the English courts came within a whisker of imposing strict liability upon the owner of a motor-car for all the damage which it causes in use.

In the phrase “moral responsibility”, the term “moral” can register two different ideas. On the one hand, it may introduce a particular field of application and a corresponding class of consequences, which are informal and social rather than formal and supported by force. Used in this way, “moral responsibility” is distinguished from legal responsibility. A quite different use of the term is involved when “moral” is introduced to imply a certain basis of assessment, one that places particular emphasis on the voluntary. In this sense, moral responsibility can be proposed as a basis of assessment even when what is in question is legal responsibility, for instance in relation to the criminal law.

The history of commercial law has often been written as if it were merely a product of the common law, disregarding the role played by legislation. The principal exception to this has been work on company law. Until recently, the prevailing view has been that the Companies Acts 1844–62 represented the triumph of the free market and the expulsion of the state from business. But, although these laws did make incorporation easier and granted companies privileges, what this view ignores is that they also imposed regulation, such as obligations to register the company and charges on its assets and to hold shareholder meetings. At the forefront of these legal changes were insurance companies. Yet, in spite of the proliferation of these companies and their role in, for example, the inquiry that led to the 1844 Act, they have been neglected. This may be because, while the successful campaign in 1824 to remove restrictions on access to the marine-insurance market would seem to support the view of legislation driven by free-market ideas, that explanation seems contradicted by the closing of access to the life-assurance market and the imposition of various obligations on life offices in 1870, a time when the liberalisation of company laws seemed at their peak. Neither development can, however, be so easily explained, and both show the effect of fierce divisions within the insurance industry.